Line and Speed
by lyricalmadness
Summary: She is vaguely aware of shouts, of snatches of color and sun, and of a heaviness that envelopes her, lulls her into numbness.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello everyone! This marks my first attempt at a story in the Heartland universe. Some of this story is based on personal experience, such as the horses. I wanted to explore how Amy would handle a potentially debilitating injury. I feel like the show does not got into the dangers of riding and how a professional has to deal with the potential of a career ending injury. This is unbeta'd and quickly proof read so if there is any major errors please let me know. Thank you in advance for reading and coming with me on this long journey.**

* * *

The evening is drowsy with summer heat when she finally let's herself lean, tired and spent, against the fence line of the bottom paddock. Shadows elongate from under trees stretching and twisting across the ground as the light falls gentle, golden on the mare grazing contently in front of her. Amy has learned how to appreciate these moments of solitude. These moments when she can enjoy the fingertips of light that linger on her back and the evening summer sounds. These moments when she can study the sturdiness of muscle and how it slides under a slick coat dappled in health as the mare inches forward while jerking mouthfuls grass into her mouth. She is a sturdy mare, well built, with the dense bones of a warmblood, powerful hocks, and a neck that ties in high to a broad chest. A twig snaps behind her and she is off with a squeal. Back rounded, head between knees, she plunges around the enclosure bucking and crow hopping furiously before settling into a tense, elevated trot. Two strong arms wrap snug around her waist and she sighs, leans back against the solid presence.

"I see the princess is her amiable self," Ty chuckles, the gravel of his voice rumbling through her.

The mare comes to a full stop blowing and twitching in anticipation.

"Just a regular pocketful of sunshine," Amy grumbles as she twists in his arms, palms skimming down his torso before wrapping around his waist. "I think I am going to try her over some low jumps tomorrow, maybe a gymnastic."

He peers down at her, hands gripping shoulders, green eyes serious and a bit worried. "You think she's ready for that?"

"I just don't understand why she is refusing to jump out of combinations. She is athletic and strong. She should be preparing for the Prixs." Amy sighs, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers stilling in the fine hair at the nape of his neck. "I am hoping is that all of the lateral work that I have been doing with her has strengthened her top line so that she is more flexible and more comfortable under the stress of combinations."

He bows his head, lips brushing her hairline as he murmurs, "how about I play hookie from class tomorrow afternoon and be your own personal fence crew?"

"Hmm," she hums as her lips drag across the curve of his jaw before slipping over his, lazy and sweet, "finally found a use for you."

Fingers pinch into her sides, wiggling insistently up her rib cage, before she can spin out of his grasp gasping around lungfuls of laughter. He lunges again, arms snagging around her waist, and spins them to the ground.

"You," he says as the echo of laughter dissolves around them, "are trouble."

She drapes herself over his side, chin propped on her arm, and smiles. "But you love me."

"I do," he says quietly, "I love you."

The evening is still again darkening minutely as it wraps itself in night. The mare snorts, bangs against the gate, and Amy sighs.

She stretches long, brushes a soft kiss to the corner of Ty's mouth before pushing herself to her feet. "Come on. Let's get Carmen settled for the night and head up. Grandpa is probably waiting for us."

* * *

The barn is hot with dead air and humidity as she pulls the girth through the running martingale loop and buckles it snug enough so the saddle doesn't slip. Carmen dances lightly, pulls against the crossties, already moist with sweat and to much energy. Ty approaches slowly as the mare rolls her eyes and nips at Amy's arm.

"Jumps are set," he says running a hand down Carmen's arched neck. "She looks excited today."

The crossties drop with a dull thud and the mare stands quietly long enough for Amy to pull the crown piece over her ears and settle the bridle in place. "Princess Sunshine, here, is never not hot."

The mare skitters to the side as they made their way to the arena snorting as a light breeze ruffles the leafs.

"You are silly," she murmurs to the fidgeting horse as she runs the reins through the rings of the martingale, rebuckling them around the horse's neck, before tightening the girth.

The mare skitters forward, mouthing at the simple snaffle, as Amy swings on and settles into a half seat. It takes a few minutes for Carmen to quiet into a flat walk and Amy waits until the mare is relaxing into the gait before lowering herself into a full seat.

"So,"Amy says as she cuts across the arena and heads back towards Ty, "we have the house to ourselves tonight. Grandpa is going somewhere with Lisa and Lou and Peter are visiting his parents."

"Oh yeah?" Ty grins climbing onto the top rail of the fence. "Are you propositioning me, Amy Fleming?"

"You, be quiet," she glares as she passes him. "I was going to offer to cook you dinner but I don't think you are invited any more. Lobo and I will have a lovely night to ourselves, thank you very much."

She hears him laugh, loud and bright, as she pushes the mare into a working trot maintaining no more than light contact as the mare reaches downwards stretching over her top line. Slowly, she collects the reins, asks the mare for more. Just as slowly, the mare responds, softens her jaw, becomes more elastic in her stride. The mare is sensitive, there is no questioning that fact as Amy wiggles her fingers on the outside rein in a small half hathese that Carmen bends around her inside leg and compresses her frame. She can feel the connection in her fingertips as the mare stays straight and true down the rail - your line and your speed, her mother would always say.

* * *

A drop of sweat rolls between her shoulder blades as Amy slides the reins through her fingers to the buckle and allows Carmen to stretch down at the walk. The mare is breathing heavy, neck slick with sweat, but her stride is relaxed, swinging forward smoothly. She can feel her own breath in sharp pricks between her ribs as she rolls the tension out of her shoulders and heads across the centerline towards Ty.

He hands her a water bottle and waits as she takes a couple of large gulps. "I think that is the quietest I have ever seen her on the flat."

"The valerian root is starting to kick in. She hasn't been squirlly on the flat for the last couple of rides," she agrees nudging the mare back into a walk so her muscles don't stiffen from standing. "The far line is a five stride, right?

He nods. "The vertical is 2'3" and the square oxer is 2'9" and the gymnastics is a one stride from cross rail to vertical and a bounce from vertical to square oxer."

"Perfect," Amy smiles, "thanks for your help today, Ty."

"You know I love watching you ride," Ty shrugs, "now go before we make the princess angry because she is late for dinner."

Amy throws her head back and laughs as she reorganizes the mare and pushes her into a trot. Circling the end of the arena, Carmen pricks her ears as Amy points her towards the vertical in the five stride going away from the barn. The mare charges forward, unbalanced and choppy, before launching herself over the little vertical. Carmen lands with a snort, pulls Amy forward as she fights for her head, and gives two impressive bucks before Amy can sit back and recollect the reins. She pulls out of the line prior to the oxer and changes direction across the short diagonal before approaching the vertical again from the other direction. The mare fights for her head the whole way back towards the upright, jerking up against the martingale, and then thrusting down against Amy's hands as she tries to lengthen her stride. The jump, it's self, is much cleaner, more organized. It takes a few more for the mare to settle and Amy breaks her down to a walk after she consistently takes the jump without rushing or bolting afterwards.

"She looks strong," calls Caleb as he joins Ty on the fence.

"I think she gets frustrated over these low jumps," Amy says between breathes. "It's like she has to much time to think."

Ty furrows his brow, studies her and the horse as they circle in front of him. "Want me to raise the jumps?"

Amy quickly shakes her head rotating her shoulder that were already sore from trying to hold the mare together. "No, she needs to learn to respect the jumps before we go higher. She would be way to strong over big jumps right now." Ty nods, let's out a relieved sigh before she continues. "Anyways, I think the gymnastic is going to force her to think and use her body."

"If you can get her settled, she's going to be hard to beat," Caleb adds as Amy collects the reins once more.

"Let's just see if I can get her over more then one fence," she says smiling over her shoulder.

The mare steps easily into a canter and Amy lets Carmen establish a rhythm before she heads towards the line once more. Carmen pops over the upright with little fuss before locking onto the oxer. She leaves out a stride, jumps long and high, nearly jumping Amy out of the tack upon landing. After a few passes, the mare huffs out a consistent five strides shaking her head in frustration.

"Hey, Ty," Amy calls breaking down to a trot, "can you break down the cross rail and leave the bounce. I think I want to add that in later."

He hops down, jogs over to the line that is closest to him, and quickly dismantles the first jump of the grid. With a thumbs up from Ty, she takes the five stride again. This time she breaks to a trot on the diagonal and heads towards the bounce at a trot. The mare breaks into a canter a stride before, launches herself over the small vertical, lands to close to the oxer, and slams on the breaks. Frantically, Amy grasps for mane as her momentum forces her forward. Carmen dodges right and rushes forward finding slack in the reins. Amy pushes herself back into the saddle, shoves her heals down, and forces the mare back in hand. She breaks back into a disjointed trot as the mare shakes her head and tests the reins.

"Sorry, girl, that was my fault," Amy murmurs asking the mare to slowly regain collection and relax back into the trot. "How about we try this again and I promise that I will get the striding right this time."

She takes the five stride again, balances the mare on the diagonal, and pulls her upper body back forcing the mare into a slower rhythm as they approach the bounce again. The mare rocks back on her hocks, takes the first jump easily, hesitates before slinging her body over the oxer, and landing tense and jarring. Again, she takes the mare into the open space of the arena and asks her to soften her body. The next few rounds are smoother and it takes Amy less time for Carmen to relax after the bounce.

She transitions back to the walk and lets the mare catch her breath. "Could you put the cross rail up again and raise the vertical to 2'9" and the oxer to 3'?"

Ty and Caleb slide off the fence.

"You sure, Amy?" He calls across the arena to her. "She still seems pretty tense."

"They will be fine, Ty," Caleb says in agreement, "the mare is practically stepping over the fences."

Amy smiles down at him as she rides past, "I will be fine, Ty."

Once more, she trots the diagonal after the five stride, pushing the mare into her outside rein as she rounds each corner and stays quiet as she approaches the cross rail. Amy doesn't have time to think as the mare takes off long for the vertical, twists in the air and lands awkwardly. There is a split second when the mare hesitates but Amy does not react quick enough to gather the mare together before Carmen takes off. The crash of legs into woods is deafening and Amy can feel the mare thrashing as she tangles in the poles. Momentum throws her forward and she falls into the rumble. She is vaguely aware of shouts, of snatches of color and sun, and of a heaviness that envelopes her, lulls her into numbness.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hello, again. Thank you to everyone who took the time to review. It really means a lot to me. I don't necessarily have a solid plan for this story (outlines and I do not get along) so time between updates will fluctuate depending on how quickly I can turn out chapters. The horses (now and future) are all based off of horses that I know personally. Amy's accident and injuries are also based on real life. There is some medical jargon within this chapter that has been stolen directly from google. I am sorry if I totally botched it if there is something utterly wrong, please let me know. I will fix it. Once again, this section is unbeta'd and has only been skimmed over for errors. Let me know what you think!

* * *

She doesn't remember the details. She doesn't remember tangling between Carmen's legs and poles or how the mare never was able to get her feet underneath herself. She doesn't remember the sound of the mare tumbling and stilling a few feet from her or the tremor of voices as they called out to her. What she does remember is being weightless in the rollercoster kind of way, the swooping feeling of displacement before the imminent crash. She remember flashes of sun and the dark brown body of Carmen and suffocating on dirt. She can still feel the way her bones compressed and resonated upon landing under her eyelids. The waking is slow. There is no jolting awake or gasping of a name in desperation. She feels like she is swimming through sludge and the recycled hospital air is too heavy on her chest. It compresses her into the bed and sparks a stead beep in her ears. The room is draped in sepia tones, the brush strokes of blushing greys of pre-dawn light, and her mind is sluggish and thick with fuzziness. Her mouth is sand gritty, chapped lips sting as she attempts to restore moisture, and her skin feels tight, stretched, as if it had shrunken across her bones. Movement is minute and she shifts enough to tip her head towards the heat radiating near her right arm. He is there, tipped forward in the recliner, head resting on crossed arms in the empty space near her hand. The tension had drained out of his face with sleep but she can still see it lingering in the tightness around his eyes. She sighs, closes her eyes, and falls into the heaviness once more.

* * *

The next waking is violent as waves of pain pricks needles up her legs and curses throughout her body. Muffled voices swarm over the consistent metronome of hospital sounds, distorted, out of reach, and she wants the heaviness, the darkness back. The bright white of the room stings as she squints blurry and unaware. Her breath gets caught in her chest burning slow, wheezy gasps. Not being able to fill her lungs, the inability to gulp down necessary air, is scarier than the lack of control she feels over her body and it sends thrumming pain in shivers throughout her body. Everything is loud, intense nonsensical words fire around her, and then there is a burn in her veins, quick and unsettling. A sudden peace tingles in her fingertips and radiates outwards. She relaxes into its clutches and falls in love with the numbness.

* * *

There is a murmuring that sends her spiraling towards awakeness. She catches words but can't keep them in her grasp as she floats in lucidity. They are soft words, lilting and perhaps a little tired, but they wash over like a balm. The light is no longer too bright but everything is hazy and a little blurry around the edges even as she blinks and squints against the distortion. Shapes appear. Dark silhouetted slips of people gather a few feet from her feet and she watches them swirl before her. The pain is only a dull throb, a shadowy reminder that flares when she attempts to contract her muscles into movement, and she presses her lips together in an attempt to find her own words. She hums a groan, feels the vibration of escaping sound throughout her body, and watches as the outlines of people slowly turn, creep towards her, no more in focus but there. Fingers wrap around her hand, lightly, almost hesitantly, and a thumb runs back and forth over her knuckles. She can see lips moving in round, slow syllables, and catches bits of sound - long As and Es as the figures draw them out soft and low. She hums again, tips her head towards the hand, and catches the pencil lines of his face. There is worry etched in his forehead and the parenthesis around his mouth. The ringing in her ears subsides, dies out with every new syllable she makes out. It's like piecing together a puzzle as her eyes flit between looming faces but exhaustion is tugging insistently. She hears her name before slipping under.

* * *

He is sleeping when she wakes. Everything is a little clearer as she turns her head in his direction. The lines of his face are softened in sleep and she studies the slope of his nose, the part of his lips, and how she feels every exhale on her skin. It is comforting, the ability to feel something outside her body, to be able to focus on a sensation besides pain. She revels in it. He wakes slowly, easily, as she wiggles her fingers in his yielding grip and watches him stir. Green eyes settle on her, unfocused, and he rubs the sleep away with a weary hand.

"Amy," he murmurs brushing his lips across the back of her hand, "can you hear me?"

There is a throbbing behind her eyes and her tongue feels swollen, cotton like. She frowns, skin dragging across her face with the small movement, when she can't form any words.

"It's ok. You're ok," he breathes onto the back of her hand before turning her hand over and pressing his lips to her palm, lingering near her lifeline, "love you."

She swallows once, twice, and watches the man shudder before her. Her tongue still feels too thick but she presses it to the roof of her mouth and exhales his name, "Ty."

He laughs a surprised, watery ghost of a laugh. "I'm here, Amy. You're ok and I am not leaving."

Eyes closing subconsciously, she nods, "love you."

Her voice is thick and slow and she can't catch her breath after she speaks. She drifts away again as Ty murmurs soothing nonsense into her skin.

* * *

Waking becomes easier. She no longer feels like she has to pull herself through the blackness or that she awakes to a dream state with everything morphed and slow around her. The lethargy remains as does the blanket of pain that ripples constantly through her when she is alert enough to talk. The morphine drowns her in numbness. Makes it possible for her to not feel or think. It has it's own pleasantness. She is taken for more x-rays and a CAT scan sometime between her conscious spells and she remembers feeling small, vulnerable as the big machines hummed around her. The next time sleep overtakes her, she dreams of big machines collapsing on her, trapping her in the confines of metal and burning heat. She starts awake with a gasp that makes her sides stitch with pain. Ty is there, five o'clock shadow thickening, bruises bleeding beneath his eyes, to tuck tendrils of hair behind her hair murmuring that she is alright.

"Thirsty," she whispers hoarse, breathy, and soft.

He smiles and squeezes her hand. "I'm going to see if I can find something to take care of that. Don't go anywhere."

"Try not to," she says as she releases his hand.

He lingers, adjusts the blanket covering her body, before pushing away from her bedside. The door closes with a swish and slim, cool fingers replace his firm grip.

"Oh, Amy," she says, voice sweet and sad, "you scared us."

She swallows, squeezes her hand, " 'm sorry, Lou."

She trembles, her voice and body. Amy can feel the tremors in the fingers that tighten around hers and in the shaky inhalations that fill the little room.

Lou shudders in a large breathe. "You are alright and that is what matters."

The room buzzes artificial around them and Lou threads her fingers through the tangled locks of Amy's hair.

"Don't want to look in a mirror," Amy mumbles, eyes closing briefly.

Lou laughs, startled, a little weak. "You look beautiful

"Liar," she says cracking her eyes open. There is laughter bubbling in her chest that hurts fearce and she winces it away.

* * *

Light creeps in as the door swings open. Ty is a first through cradling a carafe of ice chips in his arms followed closely by Jack, Peter, and a man that could only be a doctor.

He hands the ice to Lou, brushing his fingers over their clasped hands lightly. "I rounded up some people that would like to see you."

Jack passes out coffees and her family regroups, rearrange around the doctor. He is an older man. Grey hair streaks through close-cropped, ordinary brown hair. Crows feet spread wide and deep from the corners of his eyes. Small, square wire rim glasses perch atop a sloping nose and his smile is wide, genuine.

He smiles down at her, eyes honeyed and bright. "I see you have finally decided to join us, Ms. Fleming. I'm Dr. Anderson, the attending physician that was on duty when you came in." He hesitated slightly as he skimmed over something on the tablet computer in hir hand. "The good news is that you can have as many ice chips as you want and we will start you on liquids tonight. Solid food might happen tomorrow. The bad news is that you are going to be here for a few more days."

His hands look strangely refined for a broad man as his fingers slip across the blue glowing screen once more before he sets it down in favor for a larger computer in the corner. The first set of x-rays appears on the screen.

"As you have probably already figured out, you have a type I fracture of the proximal radius bonein your right forearm. We have set it and it should heal well without surgical intervention. Unfortunately, your sternum and spine received the most damage."

He pauses once more, switching to an upper chest x-ray, before continuing. "Rib three fractured and punctured your left lung which caused pneumothorax. We had to make a small incision right below your armpit in order to insert a tube and drain the build up of air in the chest cavity so your left lung could reinflate. Rib five was also fractured in your fall and you cracked two, seven, and eight. Ribs, however, are very resilient and they should heal efficiently in 4-6 weeks."

The x-rays change again to the long s-shape of her spine. The doctor leans forward in his chair gesturing towards the area of the spine where the thoracic region transitions to the lumbar region. "This right here is a flexion fracture pattern, or a compression fracture, of the thoracic/lumbar area of the spine. Fortunately there was no dislocation or rotation in the spinal column and it should not affect the spinal cord in anyway. The compression fracture is the most stable fracture associated with the spine and, at this point in time, surgery is not predicted. Normally, decreased activity and a hyperextension brace is all that is necessary to successfully set a compression fracture. We will fit you to one prior to your release."

He clicks the computer off and pushes it away before knitting his fingers together. "You do have some abrasions and contusions on your lower extremities as well as ten stitches over your left eye but those are minor in the grand scheme of things. Overall, Ms. Fleming, I think you should make a full recovery. It's going to take awhile but you got lucky."

The information swirls around her head, beats steady in her ears, and she doesn't quite understand everything that is going on. The doctor stands, hands shoving deep into the pockets of his coat as he asks for any questions. She can feel tears welling hot in her eyes and her chest burns as she tries to take a deep breath. A hand reaches out, smoothes down her leg to her knee, anchoring and solid.

Her grandpa's deep voice breaks through the silence, "how long before she is fully functioning?"

Dr. Anderson sighs, wipes a hand across his forehead. "Time frames are hard to predict but she is fit and young. We are looking at six to twelve weeks in the brace for her back to fully heal and another six to twelve weeks of physical therapy to restore mobility. The injuries to her wrist and her ribs should heal completely well before her back."

Everyone deflates into silence and the doctor excuses himself with quick efficiency. Only after the door shuts completely does she feel the wet slide of tears curling down her face and dripping off her chin.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello, everyone! Thank you so much for all of your kind words. They mean so much to me. Sorry this chapter took so long. For some reason, it was very hard to write and I got stupendously stuck. I am still not very happy with it. It feels a little flat to me but I wanted to get something posted. All the veterinarian stuff came from my emergency veterinarian medicine/equine reproduction binder and that is about the extent on my knowledge of equine scapular fractures. I do know all about (figuratively speaking) how painful a compression fracture in the thoracic/lumbar region is but I have never punctured a lung so I may have taken some liberties there. Obviously, this story is AU and I am ignoring some events from the show such as Ty's potential proposal and Mallory's relocation. As usual, I have done nothing besides quickly skim over this for major errors. All mistakes found are mine but if you point anything major out, I will fix it. Once again, thank you for reading and I hope that you like it.**

* * *

There is a nurse who comes in the depths of night to check the various beeping machines. She is grey haired and sturdy with stories etched deep into her forehead and soft fingers that move soundlessly in her routines. It is her third night in the hospital, the first night after reducing her morphine intake, when she learns the nurse's name is Addie. Ty is still curled in the recliner by her bed and Lou is on the little cot they set up by the window so they exchange pleasantries in barely there whispers. Amy doesn't talk, not really, but she listens to the buzz of Addie's honey-soft stories that flow from a worn smile. Addie never asks what a girl like her is doing laying prone in a hospital. She asks about how she is feeling, about her level of comfort, then offers up stories and talks her back into sleep. Those nights that Addie can stay for a while in whispers, Amy sleeps until morning. She is grateful for Addie and her stories.

...

Nobody talks about Carmen. Then again, Amy doesn't ask about her either. They don't talk about the farm or what happened to the other horses that were in her care. She can guess and doesn't ask. Her family, both blood and extended, have never been good with fragile conversations. They tread soft around them and build calluses that can withstand the burden of protecting what needs to be protected. She is a fragile thing now and no one knows how to handle her. She can pretend that way so she let's them shape the conversation into their forced version of optimism. It is five days after her accident, right after her doctor says that she is going to be released sometime tomorrow evening, that Caleb comes and shoos everyone away so that they can repair their zombie-white expressions. He lounges in the seat, dusty black hat in his lap and spurs still attached to his muddy boots, and stares at her.

"How're you doing, Amy?" He finally asks in his lazy drawl.

She is allowed to be in a reclined position now so she turns towards the other wall and shrugs. These questions always seem to be so self-evident so she has stopped answering them and let's her family, the doctor, talk around her silence.

Caleb waits patiently, runs a hand through his curls, and laughs. "I guess that's a stupid question."

Amy doesn't smile much these days but, this time, she lets a slow wince of one slip through and meets his eyes. Like everyone else, he looks like someone who has been dragged through hell - all sleepless eyes and ragged complexion. He places his hat upside down onto the ground, leans his forearms on his knees, and steeples his fingers.

"Did you know," he starts slow, forehead knitted as if contemplating the exact words, "that Lynn McCleary showed Grand Prix on Elsa in the late eighties. She was long listed for the '88 Olympics in Seul, South Korea but the mare suffered a small tear in her flexor tendon that ended her Olympic campaign. The mare came back, of course, but was retired prior to the next cycle."

Of course, Amy knew the whiplash of a lady. In her seventies now, she still bred sport horses some of which have made it to the big leagues. Carmen was one of her hopefuls. The mare's mangled body, the imagine she concocted in her head late at night when sleep evades of broken necks and twisted legs, flashes in her mind. She has repressed these images and let her mind settle on the blank walls around her (save for the overly cheerful get well cards she has yet to read and the mockingly bright bouquet). She can still see how proud Carmen was, how she moved with the slinky power of a performer, and how she attacked work with a single minded ferocity. Like Amy, she loved the challenge."

"I know, Caleb." Amy says tipping her head away from him. "Mrs, McCleary sent her to us."

"Well," Caleb continues reclining in the chair once more, "she is pretty attached to the mare. Had big plans for her and -"

Amy snaps her head back to face him ignoring the fingertips of pain that traces along her spine. "What are you doing Caleb? I know the accident was my fault. I should have backed off instead of over facing her. If I had stopped before it escalated to that point she would still be alive and I wouldn't be here. You do not need to tell me that, Caleb."

"Alive?" Caleb asks, eyebrows drawing together. "Oh Amy, they didn't put Carmen down. What I was going to say was that if we can keep her still, which could be more than a major challenge, her shoulder should heal in 3-4 months. After another few months of pasture time and light work, she should be ready to come back."

"Don't lie to me - wait. What?" She says stopping herself as she tries to sort through the information she was just given.

"Hold on, I had Scott write everything down." He stands and digs his hand into a front pocket of his jeans. "She has what is called a nondisplaced supraglenoid tubercle fracture to the scapula with little joint involvement. Scott went in and cleaned out the debris and applied a small internal fixation. Carmen came out of the surgery fine and is resting at the equine surgery unit until she is safe to transport. They also found bone chips in her hock; however, with the amount of scar tissue they found, they think that the bone chips are an older injury and, possibly, the reason she had problems jumping out of combinations. Scott removed those, as well, and she will need to be maintained with joint injections but those are minimally invasive."

Amy sinks back into the bed, head reeling with the information. "The extra stress on her hocks from the combinations probably jostled the bone chips enough to make it painful. God, Ty asked if it was her hocks when she first came to Heartland."

Caleb leans forward both hands grasping hers. "None of this was your fault. There is a good chance that those bone chips would not have shown up on an x-ray. You couldn't have known that she was hurting. She is a tough mare. She is going to pull through as long as she doesn't kill us first."

"So," Amy says slow removing her hand from under his, "she is coming back to Heartland?"

"Yes, ma'am." He sits back and crosses his arms defiantly. "Mrs. McCleary thinks that it is the best for the mare and we agreed with her."

"Don't get me wrong," Amy starts, eyes closing. She swallows hard. "I am glad

that Carmen is going to be fine and that she still has a future but I don't want anything to do with the mare."

He stands, hat cradled between both hands. "Well its a good thing it isn't your decision. Now I have a cross tie and sling system to set up so I need to get going."

Footsteps echo loud in the little room as he strides towards the door before hesitating. "I know you are upset, Amy, but this is the right decision."

The door swishes closed and she lets herself cry.

...

The physical therapists are warmly efficient as they cultivate small talk while fitting the restrictive brace around her torso. The brace is a dull gun metal gray with a rigid spine, two small pads push the front of each shoulder backwards, a thick strap below her ribs which holds her core firm, and bracing pelvic pad. It is bulky, rigid, and forces her to walk in a tight, crab-like shuffle. She can feel the concussion of every shuffle-step she takes across the physio floor even as the brace renders her spine immobile. Two side support walkers, both broad men with crew cuts and permanent smiles glued to their faces, hover as she makes a slow turn and starts the journey back to the pony-tailed brunette at the end of the room. The shush-shush of her slippers on the carpet is a slow metronome and her breath clings in sharp pinches inside her chest. She hates it.

The preppy brunette stops her at the end of the room with both hands on her shoulders and a too bright smile. "Good job, Amy. I think you have had enough for today."

One of the support walkers, whose name may or may not be Chad, helps lower her back into the wheel chair and she let's him do most of the work.

"Now remember," the therapist continues once she is settled, "the brace stays on at all times unless you are sleeping or in the shower and keep any extraneous movement to a minimum so that you do not stress your lungs or your back."

Amy nods her understanding as she melts into the chair. She can feel fatigue pulling behind her eyes and her body feels rubbery, used. Other things are said, she is sure of it, but she hears nothing else.

...

Her grandpa is sleeping in the recliner in the far corner when she blinks awake in the weak evening light. He looks older, breakable, when he is asleep and there is something in his stillness that makes her sad. He shifts, mumbling something unintelligible, and she turns away not wanting to look at the vulnerability in his body any more. A page turns next to her and she shifts again so she can study the presence by her side. She knows it is Ty before she can see any part of him. She knows how he feels besides her. Knows the pattern of his breath and the feeling of his eyes on her. She shivers as his focus shifts away from the textbook in his lap to land on her. His face is partially hidden in shadows. They sharpen his cheekbones; settle in the hollows of his face, which have grown more pronounced through the week. He studies the length of her, eyes dark, and says nothing when she inches to the far side of the bed and pats the space she created.

"Amy," he whispers glancing quickly over his shoulder. "We can't."

She exhales, eyes bright. "Please, Ty."

He stares at her, still and quiet, before toeing off his shoes and curving around her in the small space. Lips brush her hairline softly, a warm reassurance, as he settles in place.

"Thank you," she breathes into the crevice of his neck and falls back asleep to the feeling of his fingers tracing up and down her side.

...

Homecoming is an anti-climatic ache, grey clouded and dreary. Exaggerated enthusiasm hovers like humidity in the air and she gives a cursory glance at the welcome home banner before shakes off both Ty and her granddad's attempts of helping her up the stairs. She step-pauses her way into the kitchen and then the living room gasping for breath as pain twists a knife in her back and her restricted ribs pulse red-hot. Dizziness rolls over her as she lowers herself cautiously down onto the couch. Nausea swims over her as the room tilts and crashes into black spots. Voices are distant, unimportant, as they echo against the roaring in her ears. Eyes closing, a cool hand brushes across her forehead, and she drifts into darkness.

...

When she wakes, the room is dark and she is in her bed with a quilt pulled up to her chin. A low rumble of conversation diffuses through the floorboards and she listens to it rise and fall in its natural rhythm. Her body is a quiet thrum of tension but she can deal with that as she swings her legs over the side of her bed. Vertigo dissipates slowly but steadily. Legs wobble when she pushes to her feet and shuffles uncoordinated over to her window. She can't see much in the moonless night but she squints and makes out the shape of the barn. The pitched roof fades into the darkness save for the faint glow of light seeping out of the big sliding door. The barn is old, well used, with paint peeling slightly on the trim (she and Mallory were supposed to paint it but never found the time), and a couple of its windows sag a little on their hinges. When she closes her eyes, she can hear the crunch and shuffle of contentment and smell the sweet dustiness that clings to everything. It makes her headache and she leans heavily against the windowsill. The door moans behind her. The pasture line is a twisting slow fade she traces with her finger. He smells like soap and familiarity as he slots himself behind her and wraps a tentative arm around her waist. The solidness of his body anchors her upright and she sags back against him. He absorbs her weakness, readily and easily.

Warm air puffs over the shell of her ear. "Come on, Amy, let's get you to bed."

A slow, shuffle, she turns in his arms. His fingers trail over cloth and plastic adjusting to the foreign ridges as he guides her around and pulls her close to stop the tipping momentum. They sway together and she clutches fabric, white knuckled and desperate.

"Easy, Amy," he whispers, lips grazing her temple lightly. "You're ok. Everything is going to be alright."

A breath stutters in the back of her throat. Ty holds her steady, breathes deep and evenly, as she shakes in his arms. It takes awhile but they take the ten or so steps to her bed in small increments. She bites her lip to keep from groaning when he lowers her to a sitting position. Everything tilts, swims, in front of her and she swallows down the sickness that threatens to take over. Nimble fingers work quickly to remove the brace before easing her down into the nest of pillows and tucking the quilt around her.

"Don't leave," she mumbles as he presses a slow, sweet kiss to her forehead.

"Never," he promises slipping into bed besides her. Fingers card through her hair as she presses closer into his warmth. "Sleep, Amy, just sleep."

She hums lightly, nosing at the thin cotton of his t-shirt, and stills.


End file.
